Call of the Void
by Shelacula
Summary: Being the Dragonborn is difficult but being the teenage daughter of a Daedric Prince is probably worse. Sometimes, being the protagonist sucks.
1. Chapter 1

AN: In the process of trying to clean out my enormous documents folder, I've decided to upload the bits and pieces of fics I have lying about. This one in particular calls for a knowledge of Oblivion, the Shivering Isles, and probably a lot of flexibility in interpreting canon and suspension of disbelief. Enjoy!

* * *

The first time Lira hears the name _Lucien Lachance_ , it registers as vaguely familiar but it isn't until she summons the Spectral Assassin and he launches into one of his long, drawn-out tales of the past that she nearly chokes on the blood she's trying to swallow.

" _Have you heard the tale of Mathieu Bellamont and the treachery of Cheydinhal…?_ "

She wants to say, 'only a thousand times, thankyouverymuch' but she somehow manages to hold her tongue.

She really does not fancy the idea of having it cut out.

He says, "I am reminded of another Listener, a protégé I knew long ago" and she wishes desperately that something – _anything, even a dragon!_ – would swoop down and dispel him back to the Void.

Part of her is amazed that he hasn't figured it out yet. They say she has her mother's face (at least when her mother is her mother and not, _well – )_ and even if her eyes glow like the center of a forge and her cheeks are a little sunken now, she doesn't think _that_ much has changed.

But, she concedes graciously, perhaps being dead for two centuries clouded one's memory.

Thank Sithis for small miracles.

* * *

He finally, _finally_ goes back to the Void and if Lira thinks the Night Mother is quietly laughing at her, she pretends she doesn't. She takes the wabbajack (why her mother still uses the blasted thing, she will never understand) and taps it incessantly against the stone outside her Falkreath manor.

"Mother," she shouts to nothing. A hawk squawks in response and quickly vacates her roof. She huffs and shakes the ugly two-headed stick like that will somehow incite her parents into answering.

To her surprise, it _does_. The wabbajack flies out of her hand of its own volition and stands upright in the middle of her walkway.

It is not her mother who answers, however, but her father. He appears in front of her, vaguely transparent in a way that is irritatingly similar to a _certain spectral assassin_. He raises a brow at her obvious moue.

"Where's mother?"

He leans on the staff as if it is a wall and not a narrow rod defying all sense of logic and physics. "Vacation," he drawls and she's reminded of how much she misses and hates her parents all at once.

"But _where_?"

"Somewhere in Solitude. I suspect she's been watching you."

Lira is offended simply for the sake of being offended. She nearly stomps away but her father throws something at her and she's forced to catch it or let it bounce off her head.

It's a pelvis. A _familiar_ pelvis. "Didn't this used to be in the museum?"

He shrugs dismissively. "You mother does so enjoy toying with dear Una. That's why she's kept her around all these years."

Lira opens her mouth to speak and snaps it shut again. She wants no part of that.

* * *

She catches a carriage to Solitude and makes casual conversation with the guards when she arrives.

A terrible thing indeed, the Emperor's cousin being murdered. _Very sad_.

Lira is in the middle of consoling a weeping guard when a familiar face passing by distracts her. He may look like a beggar but she is neither fooled nor amused. She leaves the man to his blubbering and takes chase.

"Dervenin? Why aren't you in the Sacellum – _argh!_ "

The dirty Bosmer accosts her with more force than she finds strictly necessary. "Oh, my lady! You must retrieve your mother for us! You'll help me won't you? She's left the whole realm under your _father's_ command." He is nearly in tears.

Lira comes very, very close to rolling her glowing eyes. "I'll do what I can."

* * *

As soon as she enters the Pelagius Wing she yells, "Mother!" and glares at the wabbajack.

Fortunately, her mother is quick to pull her out of Tamriel. For once.

Sheogorath – and Lira will _never_ call her that to her face, no matter how Haskill complains – lounges across from who she assumes to be Pelagius (it's disturbing that she has his hip bone in her pocket, but it's not the strangest thing that's ever happened to her). Her mother is in the guise of an old man with grey hair and a beard.

There's some history behind that – something about Jyggalag and daedric curses but honestly, she rarely pays attention when _Una_ Armina speaks.

With a wave of a hand, her mother sends Pelagius away. Lira takes his seat.

"Is there a problem?" the Prince of Madness asks. She's suddenly Elnira again, a dunmer woman dressed in bone and velvet. She looks more like Lira's sister than her mother.

For once, Lira hesitates. She remembers the tales of retribution her mother had meted out upon Lucian's death and how close she'd come to breaking the Tenets. "I met an old friend of yours," she finally says.

Elnira tilts her head to the side and regards her only daughter with unblinking eyes the color of wet blood. There's no pupil in her irises – hasn't been for centuries.

"His name is Lucien Lachance."

There is a peculiar softening to her mother's face. "A descendent?"

"Not exactly. Rather, this seems to be quite the _same_ Lucien Lachance you knew."

All traces of 'soft' vanish in an instant. "He is _dead_ ," and the way she hisses that last word makes the world shake around them.

"Quite so, mother," Lira assures quickly. "But he serves Sithis and I have been granted permission to summon him from the –"

"Ha!" her mother – _Sheogorath_ – shouts in sudden mirth. "Free to kill again, is he? More than can be said for our dear Arquen!"

"Yes, well, fine as that is I believe he recognizes me. Sort of. I'd rather not be the one to explain all of this to a long dead assassin with a touchy temper and a thirsty blade."

"You may summon him now," her mother says with that blasted condescending tone that made Lira want to yank out her own hair.

Lira _wants_ to say 'why can't the former ListenerGuildMasterArchmageGreyFox manage to summon him _herself_ ' but instead she stands and paces away three steps. She chants the spell Astrid taught her and tosses the ball of dark magic that forms in her palm.

The Spectral Assassin appears in the middle of Pelagius' mind with a _whoosh_. "My Listener," he greets politely.

Her mother is silent behind him, a statue of a woman. Finally, she unlocks her fingers from the stone of her chair and stands. "Lucien," she says and her voice is the hollow echo of two centuries of sorrow. It is one grief among many.

The ghost spins so fast, Lira gets whiplash. His dagger is in hand but it falls when he sees Elnira. He glares suspiciously over his shoulder at Lira, who looks very much as her mother – assuming her mother had been a vampire.

"What is this?" He demands and sounds awfully pushy for a man who's been dead two hundred years.

Part of her expects (and hopes) her mother will disintegrate him on the spot. Instead, Elnira comes around the table and takes his free hand gently between hers (and it's a little weird to see flesh meet ectoplasm). "I see you've met my daughter," she says, as if there had never been time, distance, or death between them.

"The Listener is your daughter," he says flatly; not a question. He pulls his hand free. Lira edges away. "You live, yet you have abandoned the Brotherhood?"

The ground shakes with her mother's temper but she whisks it away just as quickly. "Much happened while you slept in the Void," she answers.

For the first time, Lucien looks around and the solid ridge of his brow furrows. "Where have you brought us?" he asks Lira, who shakes her head mutely and makes a wonderful impression of a placating statue.

"You are in the mind of a madman," Elnira says. "My realm. I am not exactly as you remember me, Speaker."

Lira suspects they are about to see part of this man's infamous temper. "What manner of treachery is this?"

Her mother _tsk_ s and Lira wants to say something but standing between two very dangerous and angry murderers seems like an inopportune place to be snarky.

The silence stretches. Lira resist the urge to tap her foot because she has places to be and Gaius Maro will not wait around in Dragon Bridge forever.

Finally, Elnira breaks the staring contest. "You stand now in the presence of Sheogorath the Mad God." The force of her stare is unrelenting and she delivers the information without so much as a blink.

Lira thinks, briefly, that her Spectral Assassin might pop back to the Void right then and there. He grips the hilt of his dagger and she likes to think that if he was made of skin and bone, his knuckles would have been stark white and his face flushed with angry color.

It takes him a long time to formulate a response, long minutes in which his transparent jaw moves in a way that suggests a grinding of ethereal teeth. _Is that even possible?_

"I knew I saw potential in you," he finally says. "I just did not realize how much."

Her mother appears at her side and puts a hand on her shoulder before she can dodge away. Lira _hates_ when she does that. "Lend me your assassin for a moment," she says. What might have been a request from anyone else fell as a command from her mother's lips. "We have much to discuss."

"Yes, mother, because I have all the time in the world to wait for you and no other prior obligations to fulfill," she snarks. She is perhaps the only person in any plane that would speak to a Daedric Lord in such a manner.

Elnira doesn't even seem to notice but the way the late Lucien Lachance fingers his blade and glares at her makes her wish she could leave him there in her mother's realm forever. How difficult could it be to forget his summoning spell completely?

In the end, she slinks off and torments poor Pelagius with the wabbajack while she waits. Though she may be Dragonborn (and she's still not certain what kind of deal her mother made with the Divines to arrange for _that_ ) she is, after all, the Child of Madness.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: This is the last bit of what I already had written for this story. It's probably worth mentioning that all my TES headcanons are heavy on Dunmer lore because they are my favorite and I perhaps maybe just a _little_ biased. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Lira wouldn't say she's _curious_ about their conversation but more 'interested for the sake of her own personal well-being'. An angry Lucien Lachance is a terrifying one. She prefers that he not be at her back but she just can't seem to off him no matter what she fights (and she'd much rather not have to pay Nazir any of her pilfered gold by doing it herself).

She is, however, absolutely positive that the next time he explodes into a little pile of ghost-dust, she will _not_ be summoning him again. She'd rather be eaten by a dragon.

He glares at her the entire walk to Dragon Bridge. He glares at her as she eavesdrops on the Maro family farewell (and isn't it peculiar that they really _did_ wait around forever?). He glares at her when she walks into the Penitus Oculatus headquarters and lifts Gaius' schedule when no one is looking.

He glares at her the entire walk _back_ to the Solitude carriage.

There are very few people left in Skyrim whom she has _not_ personally offended but Lira is pretty certain he's one of them. She makes every attempt to ignore his eyes boring into the back of her head as she pays the notably unsettled carriage driver for a trip to Windhelm.

Lira worries sometimes about the practicality of traveling with a ghost but, she figures, if no one runs screaming from her hellfire eyes then they certainly aren't going to worry about a phantom.

The people of Skyrim must be remarkably dense.

* * *

Lira doesn't like Windhelm at _all_. The next time a drunken Nord calls her Ashborn (she's not even _really_ a Dunmer) or an Imperial spy, she is going to turn him into a sweetroll.

Unfortunately, it's the perfect place to stage Gaius Maro's death. In fact, Lira is surprised he's even visiting the Stormcloak headquarters to begin with. Why send the poor boy to the very people who would like nothing more than to kill those closest to the Emperor?

She wonders if her mother has something to do with it.

All it takes is a few whispers in the right ears (and a judicious application of the wabbajack) and the same Nords who'd hassled her are suddenly being carted off for the tragic murder of one Gaius Maro. All Lira has to do is slip in and plant the letter on his cooling corpse.

Lucien mutters about his blade being restless.

Lira feeds before they leave the city, aware every second of Lucien's eyes on her. She hates when people watch her do this.

"You remind me of an old friend," he announces suddenly, loudly, and she jumps so high her fangs slip from the young Nord's neck. As she struggles with the arterial spray, she wonders if that's one more thing he's going to try and stab her for.

Apparently, she reminds him of _everyone_.

* * *

"Our Dread Father does not wish – "

"I get it," Lira interrupts with a hiss. She paces three steps to and fro and wishes the Keeper had chosen a larger room to bleed out in. The scent of his blood is overwhelming.

She's grown quite fond of little Cicero. The warm madness chipping away at his mind is as familiar to her as the scent of redwort and wormwood that always surrounds her mother. She doesn't necessarily _want_ to kill him but he's attacked a member of the Sanctuary and how much trouble will she be in if she _doesn't_ kill him?

Lucien watches her and stands still as a transparent statue. His advice thus far has been woefully inadequate. He keeps talking about Sithis and the _Night_ Mother but Lira is more concerned about how her _actual_ Mother will react to her being kicked from the Dark Brotherhood. She suspects the ensuing chaos would leave the landscape of Skyrim changed forever.

Well. She may as well just ask, then. She pulls the wabbajack from her back and taps it on the ground. The sound echoes loud enough to drown out Cicero's incessant babbling.

"Mother," she calls.

Silence. Even Cicero is looking at her as if she's lost her mind and that's just the worst kind of irony.

Lira heaves a sigh and smacks the leering double-headed stick against the wall. " _Mother_ ," she repeats indignantly. "I need your help."

Then finally, _finally_ , there is a crack of light and sound and the Lady Sheogorath appears in all her splendor, though her hair is tousled and her lips bruise-dark. Lira would bet her last septim that she'd interrupted her parents at something she'd rather not even think of.

"What do you need, _yi muhrjul_?" She asks and leans on her staff - the creepy eye set in the top moves slickly to follow Lira's face.

"Your advice. That way you can't be angry with me if it all blows up in my face."

Her mother's deep, throaty laughter is comforting in a way Lira will never admit to. She's never been away from home so long before.

"Astrid wants me to kill the Keeper," she blurts out and gestures across the room to where Cicero has taken to lolling around before the fireplace and humming a ditty about living gods and thunder.

Elnira looks at the little man with something like fondness. "Ah yes, Cicero. His heart may belong to the Night Mother but his mind belongs to _me_."

Lira clicks her tongue impatiently.

"Tell me, _julikal_ , who is the Listener?"

"I am, mother."

"And what mortal may command the Listener?"

She thinks about that and understanding slowly dawns. "None may, mother," she says and she grins. Astrid may think herself above the Tenets, but Lira knows better.

Elnira taps her staff on the ground and the eye blinks. "My clever daughter," she praises. "If Sithis wished the little jester punished, his Wrath would have already done so."

"I told you," Lucien drawls, making Lira jump. "The Dread Father does not wish this."

She'd forgotten all about him and that _distinctly_ sounded too much like an 'I told you so' to be coming from a dead man.

Lira glares. Her mother laughs.

* * *

Sanctuary is gone.

Lira kneels in the burnt out husk and sifts her fingers through the ashes; they're the same color as her skin. Somewhere to her left, the broiled remnants of Veezara smolder against a blackened wall and the smell is enough to choke her.

She'd thought she understood death. She's finding that a clean kill from a hundred paces and cradling the steaming corpses of Brothers and Sisters are two very different things.

She wants to go _home_ but she doesn't know how she will face her mother. She _wants_ this all to be a dream though she knows she's never had a nightmare in her life.

The Night Mother is silent in her head. Lucien is a distant pile of dust. Lira never thought she'd actually miss him but the quiet is oppressive and all she can hear is the faint _sizzle_ of cinders and smoke and the steady _drip drip drip_ of the dammed up waterfall.

Nazir and Babette have wandered off somewhere, leaving her alone in a room full of corpses and she doesn't even have her own heartbeat to keep her company.

Sorrow and grief are not things she has experienced. She has never felt the sting of regret but now it sits heavy on her shoulders. This is the first time she's been beyond her mother's realm and it _hurts_.

She fumbles for the wabbajack but by the time she brings it around, she feels a hand threading gently through her hair.

"Ah, _yi hla'jul_ , I felt your sorrow from across the planes." Her mother kneels beside her, into ash and blood, and softly traces the curve of her cheek. "I am sorry. You are so young for this task I have given you, _muhrjul gena'id._ I should have prepared you better."

Lira leans forward, falling into her mother and choking on her next breath. Elnira is all sharp edges and bones but she wraps her arms around her daughter and hides her from the smoke and fire, if only for a moment.

"Astrid betrayed us," Lira sobs into her mother's neck. "Or she betrayed _me_. Or something." She doesn't entirely understand what's happened between the fighting and the death but she knows Astrid is responsible. The Night Mother told her as much.

"I know _._ I am so sorry. Her mind was closed to me."

Lira knows her mother is not all-powerful outside the Shivering Isles but it is a frightening thought all the same. "I should have known better," she whispers between heaving breaths. She can't see the corpses anymore but she can hear them, sputtering and hissing as they cool. "I knew she hated me. I shouldn't have trusted her."

"Astrid has made her choice," her mother says, soft as a sigh. "Now she will pay for it."


End file.
